Define Margolian

One of the non-contributing writers (Karen) to this blog asked me to explain how the word Margolian came to be. It has been used in our family vernacular for so long, I just assumed it grew, as everything in Portland does, organically. I was wrong. The Term Margolian was coined, Christmas 2001, by my future brother in law, Patrick Farinholt, after he experienced our over-reaction to our mother signalling her unplanned return from Mexico with a wooden skeleton on my sister Karen's front door. In some families, people are actually happy when a relative comes by unexpectedly, we are not one those families. We had just returned from seeing Vanilla Sky( we wanted to see The Royal Tenenbaums, but it was sold out), which was about Tom Cruise being attractive then ugly, Penelope Cruz showing her boobies, Cameron Diaz being crazy sexy hot, and I remember Kurt Russell wearing a white suit at the end--The movie sucked.

We saw the skeleton on Karen's front door, and we started freaking out.
"Is she here?"
"Why didn't she fucking call us?"
"Why can't she just be a normal person and tell us she is she here?"

I went into Karen's office and rhythmically banged my in the corner chanting my array of fearful sentiments. I owed my mom a bit of money from my unemployment spell in 98 and feared she wanted repayment. I also feared that I would again be burdened with driving her around to do her errands or take her to the doctor, etc. Being 27 I just didn't want to hang out with my mom that much.

The phone soon rang and my mom wanted us to pick her up at the Travel Lodge. After berating her for having the audacity to show up on X-mas unannounced and hearing her tears, I drove over to pick her up and bring her back to Karen's house. We ate take out Chinese and spoiled my mom's"surprise" by being overly dramatic and annoyed with her arrival.

In retrospect, it was way over the top. Ten years later the details of my behavior are blurred, however, I believe reacted like that because I hate my mom's surprises. One of my more painful childhood memories is my 13th birthday, when mom "surprised" me by walking out on our family and asking me if I wanted to help her find an apartment. My mom's surprises are deluded fantasies. When she bought a new house, she sprung for a new a pool table believing that would be enough to get me to move in. In the rare moments when I anticipated seeing my mother, she would surprise me by not showing up. During my year abroad in Swansea, Wales, my mom was suppose to come visit, but an ear infection forced her to cancel her trip. I remember following my sister out to Portland to get free from the family only to get a call a year later that my mom (SURPRISE!) was moving to Portland. I think all of my sisters and I have inherited a gene that is highly reactive to our mom's whimsical instability. Patrick witnessed our reaction and rightly labeled it "Margolian." Identifying and naming this gene has helped me understand why I tend to ruin seemingly happy events like marriages, weddings, birthdays, and vacations with selfish worry. There is no cure, but through exercise, counseling, meditation, and communication I have managed the gene. It's a good thing, too, because the most perplexing thing about being Margolian (or having Margolian?) is that no matter how mean, reclusive, or overly reactive you are you stay connected. I'll leave this stream of consciousness here---

It will be interesting to read what my sisters remember about the Margolian label!